


Shook All Our Coffins

by elisewrites



Series: Better Unrequited [1]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Headcanon, POV Rio (Good Girls)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22858039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisewrites/pseuds/elisewrites
Summary: It seems like a lifetime ago that he’d regarded her with intrigue rather than vigilance. Now, they’re wounded, inside and out, and he’s certain that no amount of stitches could ever make them whole again. There’s no going back to the way things were; nothing left between them that either are capable of salvaging.・・・When Rio returns to give Beth what she's owed, he finds something unexpected on her fridge among her children's artwork.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: Better Unrequited [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764664
Comments: 12
Kudos: 88





	Shook All Our Coffins

**Author's Note:**

> title is an excerpt from "Channel Firing" by Thomas Hardy.  
> send me prompts, suggestions, theories, or just a hello @elise-jupiterstyle on tumblr!

When the time comes for Rio to enter Elizabeth’s life again, he’s most definitely not subtle about it.

He’s got a reputation to uphold, after all, and he won’t deny the kick he gets out of imagining her reaction when he turns up in her kitchen, alive, like she’s pressed restart on the entire history of them.

He’s a little out of practice from his month’s stay in the hospital, though, and he’s certainly learned his lesson about diving in head-first with her — so it goes like this.

The first two weeks are entirely dedicated to getting himself reacquainted with her routine. Some of it has changed — he assumes to accommodate their most recent development — but most of it hasn’t, and once he figures out how the new interacts with the old, it’s like falling into old habits and polishing a dusty tool.

The first thing he notices is that her dumbass husband has made a reappearance, as well — not one of much importance, he thinks, if the gradual collection of boxes that leave with him after every visit are any indication. Still, it’s something; an unpredictable variable, and so he gets one of his boys to keep tabs on him, too. Finds out that the guy is working a different angle on the motor business, which is interesting, to say the least, but regardless; his dumbass isn’t any of Rio’s concern.

The information isn’t useless, though. It gives him enough reason to believe that Elizabeth is alone during the day a lot more than she was back when they were in business together, so when he finds the reality to be the quite opposite, well — her latest venture in crime isn’t exactly ground-breaking. Intriguing, sure, because he remembers every bit of their conversation where she’d informed him that his money was cooked — right down to the way she’d flinched back a fraction when he’d declared that she was just work to him. By the time that ordeal had taken place, he knew he’d been playing the long con on himself trying to convince either of them that he hadn’t felt anything for her.

Regardless, it’d achieved the desired effect, scalding her to the same degree as she had him in her bedroom. Her reaction had almost been worth the sting of her prior rejection, the pain from it lingering a bit more prominently every time he interacted with her. Almost.

The satisfaction he drew from it was short-lived, and it wasn’t long before he’d found himself ticking over schemes for hours on end, his mind searching relentlessly for a solution to a separation that, deep down, he knew he had no control over. He couldn’t force her back into business with him, no matter how confident he was that the lure of it was much more appealing than her dedication to playing Stepford wife to a husband that didn’t even deserve to be in the same room as her. To Rio, it seemed that the main issue between them stemmed her tendency to dive in head-first without checking the depth or temperature of the water. If it ended up being too cold, she’d scramble out of it, her hasty movements causing ripples farther out that she had no knowledge of. If it ended up being too deep, well — she could either drown, or keep herself above water by forcing the nearest body beneath her.

Out of all the terrible, damaging habits Rio has acquired and overcome in his life, he thinks that she has to be one of the most destructive ones because in the end, he’d played a large part in bringing out the most dangerous part of her — the part that knew there was more waiting for her as soon as she learned how to take it.

The accuracy of this perception provides a startling pretense to the moment when Rio first discovers that Elizabeth has, in fact, gone off the deep end again — this time, her dive has taken the form of a very familiar, albeit downsized, business venture.

The initial disbelief he’d felt when he’d first gotten word of her independent laundering operation was nothing in comparison to the blinding, white-hot rage of his righteousness. It’s rooted so deeply in him, spanning all the way back to that very first night when she’d asked for a cut of the action; for him to take a chance on her, at whatever capacity he’d deemed fit. He’d let her in, time and time again, despite how many inconveniences she presented because he’d seen the value in having someone who fit in all the areas that he didn’t. He’d seen the value in _her._

Knowing, now, that she was capitalizing on his absence while his son endured night after sleepless night because of it — it certainly complicated things. Professionally, of course.

Complication isn’t to be mistaken with hesitance, though. If anything, Rio is practically gleeful with the prospect of nestling his gun against the hollow of her neck, just to see if she’ll look him in the eye again. Fundamentally, it would be nothing personal — after taking out Turner, handling Elizabeth would merely be a natural progression in tying up loose ends.

| |

Elizabeth is running late.

Rio knows her schedule by now — knows that she’s punctual in her time leaving the house and returning to it since she started working at the print shop — which is why he currently finds himself inspecting the main areas of her house in her belated absence. Not much has changed that he’s able to discern, save for the pile of painting supplies stacked neatly beside the staircase and the addition of a monthly calendar that’s notably _not_ hidden beneath her silk pajama sets. He doesn’t expect to find much, knowing that there’s nowhere near enough space or privacy for her illicit extracurriculars here like there is in the back room of her shop.

Still, he spares himself the effort of trying to stave off his curiosity, his eyes wandering over the staples of every middle class home and lingering on the embellishments that could be no one else’s but hers. A soft grey drop-stitch blanket thrown over one arm of the couch; little splashes of pale blue accents in the otherwise neutral-toned space of her living room.

In particular, he finds himself drawn to the cluster of hand-crafted art pieces pinned up by magnets on the side of the fridge. Rio sidles closer to them, now, his eyes scanning over the vibrant blotches of paint and sporadic patterns drawn by colored markers. The corner of his mouth turns up despite himself, the familiarity of the carefree, imperfect craftsmanship causing something to twist sharply in his chest the longer he studies it.

His gaze drifts a little farther up the collection of papers, observing the distinctive characteristics that set one of her children’s work apart from the other’s — until he sees it.

A drawing of two smiling figures, a bench, and a grassy foreground; _For Mrs. Boland,_ printed at the top right corner in his son’s careful penmanship.

A whirlpool comprised of numerous unnamed emotions begins to form and tighten in his chest, blurring his thoughts together until his vision gives way to the blinding white rage rapidly boiling to the surface.

While Rio was shacking up in a hotel, selling out half of Detroit’s dealers and severing the majority of any future business ties so that Marcus wouldn’t grow up without a father; so that Rhea wouldn’t be left raising him on her own, forced to tell her baby that his father wasn’t coming back — Elizabeth had been inserting herself into his son’s life in Rio’s absence, gaining his affection and opening her home to him.

Rio is seething now, his fingers so stiff he thinks they might snap in half when he curls them into his palm, nails biting into flesh as his chest heaves with the erratic pattern of his breathing. He can’t pinpoint whether his anger stems from the nerve of such a concept — of her gunning him down and leaving him for dead before assuaging her guilt by doting after the one person she knew she’d be hurting the most by pulling the trigger — or the all-too-familiar ache of having fallen short as a guardian and a father. The woman who shot him has more than likely been comforting his son over the absence she caused and really, he hasn’t got the slightest fucking clue about how to unpack that.

It takes every ounce of control he can muster to hold the lid on his emotions and resharpen his focus, his molars grinding together with how furiously he’s clenching his jaw.

The distant rumble of a car engine approaching and stalling slices through the hot layer of fury shrouding his thoughts, jerking him back to the present and forcing him to shelve the tangled threads of emotion pulling taut at his lungs with each breath. He lifts a hand to side of the fridge, his touch lingering briefly on the drawing once more before he’s moving, stealing past the foyer towards Elizabeth’s room with strides that are swift and sure to make up for all the ways he isn’t right now.

He hears the unmistakable scratch of metal catching on metal just as he lets himself into her bedroom, and he immediately curses himself for not putting more thought into his choice in location. The dreadful cocktail of nostalgia and anguish that spills over his tongue is bitter and gut-wrenching as his gaze dances from one corner of her room to the other, subconsciously reacquainting himself with the most intimate part of her life — the most intimate part he’d ever shared with her.

Rio shakes his head almost violently, repeatedly, as though it might erase the sardonic memory like sand from an Etch-A-Sketch.

That’s not who they are now.

It seems like a lifetime ago that he’d regarded her with intrigue rather than vigilance. Now, they’re wounded, inside and out, and he’s certain that no amount of stitches could ever make them whole again. There’s no going back to the way things were; nothing left between them that either are capable of salvaging.

He does his best to draw relief from this concession — from knowing that once the day’s through, the question of what could’ve been between them will no longer be one he’s hard-pressed to answer.

Elizabeth’s in the house, now. Rio wanders over towards the french doors leading out to the patio, his gaze roaming over the lush green lawn that she’s been discernibly neglecting. The echo of her heels against the hardwood sounds deafening to his ears as she approaches her bedroom door, oblivious to what’s waiting for her beyond it. That is, until the steps start to stagger, stalling completely when they reach the threshold. Rio knows that he’s left the door open. He thinks that somewhere in her mind, buried well and good beneath the guilt and remorse she’s likely denied harboring to those closest to her — somehow, he thinks she knows exactly what’s waiting for her.

Still, he watches her emotions play out across her face like a slideshow when she finally pushes past the door — watches as the mixture of disbelief and shock quickly gives way to apprehension and pure anguish. He’s writing off the minimal trace of relief that precedes them before it can so much as scrape his mask. He can’t allow himself to slip up this time.

He thinks he could’ve recited the first string of words that leave her mouth once she’s regained control of it. Despite each effort of hers to convince him otherwise, he _does_ know her. He knows her too damn well.

“What are you doing here?”

And it’s shocking, he thinks, his lips curling against his teeth in a cruel, mocking smile — how natural it feels when he slips his mask back into place, shielding Elizabeth from any possible flicker of hesitation that she could sink her nails into for leverage. He won’t be bested again in a game that he created by a pretty mouth with a venomous tongue.

This time, he won’t be the one leaving this bedroom scorned.

“Yeah, we both know how this ends.”

**Author's Note:**

> so it begins. strap in, my friends, cause we're expecting major turbulence tomorrow.  
> i'm so eager to dive into the tension of this season with my writing. our months of speculation will soon come to an end!


End file.
